


Not All That Different

by jeniac



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: 2x04 Down, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 10:00:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1775080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeniac/pseuds/jeniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Missing scene" from episode 2x04 "Down", takes place right after their fight in the RV, when Walt offers Jesse some breakfast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not All That Different

**Author's Note:**

> This is like the first fic I've written in years. Ratings might go up in later chapters? I don't know tbh.

_"Want some breakfast?"_

...

Jesse lifts his head slowly, kind of hesitative, like he must have heard him dead wrong.

He looks over at Mr. White, arms crossed over his chest, head hung low, a familiar darkness cast underneath his eyes, one that Jesse has come to relate to from walking past any dust-stained mirror in his empty, even dustier house.

 _It’s probably haunted to the bone by now_ , he thinks. And, briefly, he wonders if the new owners are going to have a problem with that.

Mr. White looks up, his expression equally tired as his appearance suggested. He looks  _exhausted_. In fact, they both do, standing in the exact same position like some kind of ironic parallel of each other, a metaphorical _blue_ washed over Mr. White’s presence like the one splashed over Jesse’s raunchy clothes, so tired and accepting over the momentarily, strange realization that it is somewhat surprisingly effortless to be around each other, a kind of frustration and unfortunate need to pretend is not present in the way that it seems to have been around actual family the past few weeks; they don't have to walk on eggshells here.

And yet, simultaneously, there lays the fact that they are utterly _mad_ around each other, aggressive and emotional, childish and stubborn, unable to take a single moment to see the others perspective.

Walt can understand this, he truly can, and he thinks of this as he is looking into puffy, red-rimmed eyes, seeing clearly now that Jesse had not come to his house unknowingly, unaware of his mistake, and that in many ways it had been an impulsive decision, and who is Walt to blame someone for such a thing? His rampage, clearly an irrational course of action, a childish way to let out his frustrations with Skyler onto the first victim passing by.

And, naturally, it had to be Jesse.

Jesse Pinkman, parking a rolling meth lab onto his driveway in the light of the day.

Walt can recognize his own mistake now, he can admit to it, but God knows there is going to take a lot more than this to bring himself to utter the words _I am sorry_.

But not that his remarks had necessarily been inaccurate, either. _Why should he_ be penalized because of Jesse’s sloppiness? Is it really that _wrong_ of him not to take pity, and to look at the situation in a logical matter, considering the district and business that they are participating in? The risks that they are playing with?

Could there be a time when a lack of empathy is an obligatory attribution? 

Regardless, he understands. He truly does. He might even go so far as to call it guilt, a faint embarrassment for acting so abrasive. Jesse carries emotional baggage, and to belittle him might not have been the correct way to embolden him to work on it for the sake of their business.

He wants to apologize for his condemns, acknowledging that it is the right thing to do, but the words won’t pass his lips.

...

"Want some breakfast?"

To his relief, Jesse nods. Breakfast would do them nothing but good. 

Walt scratches his head, can feel the sweat from their fight, clammy at the nape of his neck.

“Leftovers good?”

Jesse looks a little taken back, like he was expecting to hear a ‘Denny’s’ or any other location that would not be the one he finds himself in, anywhere but _here_ , a house he has been kicked out of about as many times he has been kicked out of his parents house since Aunt Ginny died. Ironically, he is being kicked out of there, too, soon.

"Yeah, sure."

He drops the blue-stained tissue in the sink, turns towards Walt, sliding the beanie from his head, then runs a hand through his damp hair and lets it flop back down to his side. He looks around the room with wary, unsure eyes.

"Uh, where do I…?"

"Oh, table is good. I’ll bring you a plate, just… sit down. Make yourself at home."

He winces a little at the last part, regrets it the moment he hears himself say it, but Jesse doesn’t seem to pay it any attention, just drags himself across the room, to the table and—

_"Wait!"_

Jesse halts at where he is standing, staring at Walt with wide, confused eyes, like he is one misstep from stepping on a landmine and go ‘poof’.

Walt clears his throat, embarrassed over the exaggerated outburst.

"You, uh…Your clothes."

Jesse looks down at himself, a clear ‘Oh’ forming on his face.

"I suppose that you could borrow some, if you’d like to."

Jesse relaxes, but stays stuck in between raised eyebrows and a frown all in once, an expression of obvious doubt and hesitation.

"Sure… I guess." He says, slowly, because all of this seems very out of place, like they are being so genuinely friendly that he is almost suspicious of himself for not having the urge to punch Mr. White in the face anymore, the anger drained out of him.

Maybe they used it all up, maybe there is nothing left to yell about anymore.

 

Jesse walks over to the kitchen, stops about six steps from Walt, shifting from foot to foot, not really sure what he is supposed to do.

"The bedroom is…" Walt considers it, then changes his mind. "Ah, no, I’ll just— come with here."

Walt gestures Jesse to follow him through the hallway, walks through the open door and to his and Skyler’s bedroom. He goes through the drawers, not really knowing why he finds himself actually paying attention to which garment he is going to pick, debating over a wine red button-down or a plain white t-shirt. He settles for the red one, throws it in Jesse’s direction and then grabs a pair of gray sweatpants and does the same.

Jesse, a bit startled, manages to catch both of them in his arms, the sleeve of the button-down thrown carelessly over a shoulder.

"I would have given you something more fitting, but taking something from Junior’s…"

"What? No, no, it’s fine."

Walt smiles. “Good."

And then, with a bit more sass, he adds; "I mean, not that I have ever seen you wear anything even remotely form-fitting.”

Jesse scoffs. "Ha-Ha. Asshole."

He bends down to undo his sneakers, steps out of them and stands back up, taking off his hoodie, and pulls his t-shirt over his head in a long, stretching motion, letting out a content moan in the process. He is about to remove his jeans when he hears coughing, and pauses with his hands on the waistband.

Walt shifts a little. “I’ll, uh, be outside if you need anything.”

_Why in God’s name would he need anything?_

Jesse nods, and Walt walks out the room, still doesn't bother to turn on the lights as he makes his way to the kitchen.

 


End file.
